


Graffiti

by Oreste_et_Pylade



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Victor Hugo References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 14:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17562005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oreste_et_Pylade/pseuds/Oreste_et_Pylade
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire are from entirely different backgrounds, which is why Grantaire is surprised and intrigued when he sees the former washing off graffiti in a neighbourhood in which he is completely out of place. Despite an initial polarisation, Enjolras warms to the stranger, and Grantaire begins to care for Enjolras more than he could have envisioned - or dared.





	Graffiti

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! :)  
> I realise I haven't posted anything for almost 2 years, so here you go. I have loads of other ideas and a few less serious fics almost complete, so hopefully they should be coming your way soon, as long as I don't completely drown in schoolwork. I hope you enjoy this one (really, most of it isn't too heavy). 
> 
> It's a little darker than the other things I've written so just be aware of t/w: child abuse, internalised homophobia, violence. These are all non-graphic and fairly brief.

Grantaire crossed the road to avoid some dodgy-looking people, and was happily strolling down the slightly-less-dodgy side of the street when he caught sight of someone who definitely did not belong there. Not because he was dodgy enough to be on the slightly-more-dodgy side of the street, but because he was not nearly dodgy enough to be on the least dodgy street in the neighbourhood.

Grantaire stopped in his tracks and debated whether he should say something or not; after all, he himself often did not feel safe in the area, especially after dark. This definitely non-dodgy- and slightly feminine-looking stranger was more likely than him to attract trouble - but he forgot about all that as he watched the boy more closely. He couldn’t be older than 16 - Grantaire’s age - but had a disdainful expression on his face that looked like it belonged to someone much older and uglier-looking than he was. For some strange reason, instead of repulsing him, this intrigued Grantaire and made him want to know more about the boy.

As he took an unconscious step forward, he thought to observe what he was doing. He seemed to be washing graffiti off the side of a building which, miraculously, did not have any other graffiti on it. Grantaire wondered whether the boy lived there, but he was fairly sure it was just an old couple, and really, he just looked out of place. He then looked at what the graffiti said: “When dictatorship is a fact, revolution becomes a right”. Grantaire was somehow struck by that quote. He bemoaned the fact that there was a comma in it, of course, but less so than the fact that the stranger was washing it off. For all his deliberation beforehand, this was what prompted him to speak.

 

Enjolras was slightly relieved when the figure that had been standing behind him for a good minute spoke.

‘Don't you agree with it?’ the boy asked Enjolras.

‘Of course I agree with it,’ he replied curtly. ‘I wrote it.’

‘Whoa, really? Wow dude, respect.’ He paused for a moment. ‘So… why are you getting rid of it? Did they catch you?’

‘Actually, I came to them,’ Enjolras said icily. He was becoming increasingly more annoyed with this stranger for some reason he couldn't explain.

‘Huh? Why?’

‘Because this morning I saw the people who live here and they really don't deserve the added trouble of removing this. I wasn't thinking last night.’

The boy was taken aback. Enjolras turned his back on him and continued scrubbing the wall, smiling smugly at his victory. It was his turn to be stunned, therefore, when the other dropped down next to him.

‘I can help you, then,’ the boy offered, taking off his jacket. 

‘You must have something better to do.’

‘Not really,’ said the boy, grabbing a sponge as he completely missed the hint. He thought for a moment then turned round and stuck out his hand. ‘I'm Grantaire, by the way.’

‘Enjolras.’ He reluctantly accepted the soapy handshake.

They worked away at the graffiti - which really did not want to come off - and chatted while doing it. At the start Grantaire was initiating all the conversation and Enjolras was giving monosyllabic responses, but over time he seemed to warm to Grantaire and talked a bit more freely. When Enjolras told him what school he went to Grantaire raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. He was once again wondering what Enjolras could possibly be doing in the neighbourhood. He asked about it as politely as he could and Enjolras answered in an embarrassed way:

‘I heard some people talking about how this was a good place to do graffiti because there aren’t any cameras or anyone who cares.’

Grantaire burst out laughing: ‘That’s about the most accurate summary of this neighbourhood you could make.’

‘Are you from here?’

‘Yeah - a slightly less dodgy street though’.

‘Then there are some people who care.’

Grantaire didn’t know exactly what to say to this so he didn’t say anything. He stood up as the graffiti seemed to be as washed off as it was going to be.

‘It looks good,’ he said. ‘You should go home now. I imagine you have a long way to go and if you think it’s bad in the day then you really don’t want to be here when it gets dark.’

‘You should be getting back too, then,’ said Enjolras as he picked up his bucket. ‘Thank you for helping me.’

Enjolras did feel grateful to Grantaire and felt that to leave him and never speak to him again would not be courteous, so he offered Grantaire the only thing he could give him.

‘Would you like my phone number?'

 

Grantaire was taken aback but also amused by Enjolras’ complete obliviousness. He definitely had not been planning to ask Enjolras for his number but recognised it as a peace offering and was not going to refuse it. As they exchanged numbers he was even a little happy with himself.

 

Enjolras now felt he could walk away without feeling any guilt.

At school the next day Enjolras’ class were given some free time after a test. Most people went on their phones and some, including his desk partner, wandered over to their group of friends and chatted. A couple of people got out some work. Enjolras picked at his fingernails, having nothing to do and no one to talk to. He grew increasingly embarrassed and it hit him how isolated he felt. He felt tears prickling in his eyes but held them back with a massive effort of will. He usually worked fine with everyone in lessons and often had clubs or did homework at break but it was moments like these he really dreaded. But for these moments, he might have been happy with his school life. He saw there were still ten minutes left and suddenly thought that there was one person he could talk to to feel less lonely.

He got out his phone and found Grantaire’s number. The only messages they had exchanged were the “hey”s they had sent to check they’d got each other’s numbers right.

 **_Enjolras:_ ** _Hey, how are you? Thanks again for helping me yesterday._

Enjolras was in no doubt Grantaire would answer. He thought everyone in his school probably used their phone in lessons - then cursed himself for being so snobbish. Sure enough, Grantaire’s reply came quickly.

 **_Grantaire:_ ** _Hey, great thanks. No problem. I’m just stuck in geography how about you?_

 **_Enjolras:_ ** _Biology - we just did a test. Why do you do Geography if you don’t like it?_

 **_Grantaire:_ ** _i couldn’t do all the subjects I wanted to cause they were in the same block. I had to choose something else and Geography is easier than rs._

 **_Enjolras:_ ** _I do RS! It takes a while to get the hang of but it’s so good - you learn such interesting things about different religions and philosophy and ethics too!_

 **_Grantaire:_ ** _Are you really political then?_

Enjolras couldn’t tell if this was some confused response to his last text, but thought Grantaire was probably referencing the graffiti.

 **_Enjolras:_ ** _Well, not in the allegiance to a party sense. I keep up with politics but I can’t stand most politicians and sometimes everything that’s happening in this country just gets too much. I’m really more into human rights._

 **_Grantaire:_ ** _Was that quote a reference to freedom of press then?_

Enjolras almost dropped his phone. Not only did Grantaire know that the graffiti was a Victor Hugo quote but he knew human rights and current affairs well enough to understand it. Again Enjolras kicked himself for being so condescending in his head.

 **_Enjolras:_ ** _Yes._

He couldn’t trust himself to write anything more - he feared even a positive comment on Grantaire’s knowledge would come out wrong and offend him somehow.

 **_Grantaire:_ ** _oh no teacher_

 **_Enjolras:_ **?

He waited ten seconds but Grantaire wrote nothing more. He could only assume there was some discipline in the classroom and the phone had been confiscated.

He felt a little bad about it so wrote to Grantaire again later that night.

 **_Enjolras:_ ** _Hey, did you get your phone back? Sorry x_

He gave out a little gasp as he realised he had sent a kiss - he was used to doing so when he texted his family, who were the main people he was in contact with. It wasn’t too embarrassing but he didn’t know how Grantaire would respond.

 **_Grantaire:_ ** _yeh, don’t worry about it :p_

Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief.

 **_Enjolras:_ ** _That’s good. How was the rest of school?_

 **_Grantaire:_ ** _yeah fine. No more evil teachers. What are you up to now?_

 **_Enjolras:_ ** _I’ve just finished my homework and I’m watching a David Attenborough documentary_

 **_Grantaire:_ ** _I want to laugh at you but I do love that man and I’m watching it too. Penguins are so adorable aren’t they?_

 **_Enjolras:_ ** _Yes! They’re my favourite animal. I’d love to be part of the team filming them. I couldn’t do it though, I wouldn’t be able to stand by and not interfere while they die in a ditch! :-(_

 **_Grantaire:_ ** _No look, they’re helping them!_

Through these two slightly shared, slightly traumatic experiences, Enjolras and Grantaire quickly proceeded from polite small talk to something more like casual conversation between friends. Enjolras realised Grantaire was actually the closest thing he had to a real friend, as there was no circumstance of school or background drawing then together. Enjolras thought their friendship could be something valuable so decided he should do everything he can to pursue it.

 **_Enjolras:_ ** _Hey, I was wondering if you would be free to meet for coffee tomorrow? If you want to I mean_

Enjolras thought there was something in the phrasing of the text that was awkward but couldn’t put his finger on it. Then he worried about whether meeting for coffee was something boys their age did: he often heard girls arranging it but never boys. Before he could think too much about it, his phone pinged again.

 **_Grantaire:_ ** _Sure! What time?_

The next week passed in a similar fashion. Enjolras’ parents noticed him suddenly being a lot happier and exchanged knowing smiles while Grantaire’s parents - well, if they noticed anything, it was that Grantaire was around less.

 

At the weekend Enjolras invited Grantaire round to his house. Grantaire wanted to come out of curiosity about how Enjolras lived and what he was like at home, but was a little nervous about what Enjolras’ parents would think of their precious son’s new scruffy-looking friend. Enjolras managed to convince him they were lovely people who were looking forward to meeting him but he needn’t have bothered: his parents found out that they had to leave town on Friday evening for work and would return in a week. This was a relief for Grantaire. He was a bit concerned that Enjolras didn’t text him for the whole of Friday or Saturday morning, but he assumed the invitation was still on. He walked up the driveway to a big, beautiful house and rang the doorbell just as the church bells were striking 12, congratulating himself on his punctuality. Enjolras opened the door, looking casual but still impressive, dressed in a red sweatshirt and blue jeans. His hair looked like he hadn’t brushed it that morning, but Grantaire thought it suited him: it added some wilderness to his good looks. He was more concerned about the expression of his face and his voice, though. He was trying to smile and sound happy but there was something about his manner that suggested something was wrong. Grantaire decided he definitely shouldn’t mention anything about his radio silence. He followed him up to his room and sat down on an armchair while Enjolras sat on a sofa opposite. It felt too formal, like an interview. He was suddenly wishing Enjolras’ parents were there.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Enjolras shakily.

Grantaire was about to ask what for, but just then Enjolras’ face crumpled up and he began to cry. Grantaire felt very alarmed and awkward.

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ he asked in a soft voice.

Enjolras just shook his head. ‘I know it’s stupid,’ he finally managed to say in between sobs. ‘I just can’t help it.’

Grantaire didn’t know whether he should ask more or not, but then his eye was caught by a pinboard on the wall which had clear gaps in it. Standing up, he saw photos of a very sweet dog lying on a desk underneath, and knew what had happened.

‘No, it’s not stupid at all,’ he reassured Grantaire, and he meant it. He didn’t know what else to say but he knew he could not bear to see Enjolras cry and took him in his arms - an embrace which, after freezing for a second, Enjolras reciprocated. Not for a second did he feel any resentment towards Enjolras for being upset about his dog. Then he was struck by how he had not noticed Enjolras’ extraordinary beauty. It was certainly a strange moment to notice it, with Enjolras blubbering like a baby and his face all screwed up and blotchy, but now that he saw Enjolras without the unconsciously disdainful expression he often wore, Grantaire suddenly thought he had never seen someone so beautiful. He was filled with some strange, strong emotion which he didn’t understand. Then his stomach plummeted and he felt sick as he feared what it could mean; but he dismissed the idea. It wasn’t possible and he did not want to make any problems for himself by even entertaining the thought. He felt like that because Enjolras was his friend and he hated to see anyone suffer. Nothing more. And as Enjolras’ friend, it was Grantaire’s job to make him feel better.

After making sure Enjolras was alright and dismissing his multiple apologies, Grantaire picked up one of the photos and headed home to start thinking of a plan. He placed the photo he had taken on the desk and tried drawing the dog, who had the amusing name of Crumpet. It worked well enough, but he felt like a condolence card wouldn’t cut it. Then he looked out of his window across the street and came up with the perfect idea.

 

Enjolras finished school slightly earlier than Grantaire, so the latter instructed him to meet him at the gates after school on Monday. Enjolras followed a smug Grantaire to the underside of a small bridge in a park that formed a sort of tiny underpass. When Grantaire threw his bag down on the ground Enjolras heard a strange metallic clinking noise coming from inside and was a bit concerned.

‘What are we doing, Grantaire?’ he asked, puzzled.

‘This is the perfect place,’ he said, unzipping his bag, ‘for some graffiti!’

He revealed several cans of spray paint inside. Enjolras didn’t know what to say.

‘Before you say anything,’ Grantaire preemptively spoke, ‘this is a perfect spot: this wall is so ugly, no one even sees it from their house or really goes this way, and it belongs only to the government.’

‘But what are we doing?’

‘A shrine.’

‘A shrine?’

‘Or a memorial, if you like.’ He took out the photo of Crumpet. ‘This.’

‘Grantaire…’ Enjolras was moved beyond words.

‘Shh. Stop talking and get to work. I need you to do the writing.’

For about an hour, they worked in silence. Well, mostly Grantaire. Enjolras put a lot of care into “RIP Crumpet” but in the end it was only two words and his artistic talents were very limited.

 

Grantaire was very focused on his work, but there was another reason he wasn’t speaking. When he thought about what he was doing, why he was doing it, and what he had felt when Enjolras couldn’t speak, he knew it was too late. Tears were forming in his eyes and if he spoke, they would turn into sobs. He took care to get a grip on himself before they finished. He wanted to make Enjolras happy.

‘There. Done,’ he said in a surprisingly calm voice considering his inner turmoil. He signed the painting swiftly with a stylish red R, and gave the can to Enjolras.

‘What? No, I couldn’t, I hardly did anything-'

‘I insist.’

‘I’m not very good at this.’

‘I’ll help you.’

Cursing himself,  with no clue what he was doing, Grantaire placed his hand on top of Enjolras’ and guided him through an “E”.

‘Thank you so much, Grantaire, you have no idea… It’s wonderful.’ He looked embarrassed and was obviously trying to divert attention from himself. ‘Do you draw a lot?’

‘Yeah. I have a sketchbook at home and I like to paint on the walls of my room.’

‘That sounds… I’d love to see it. Could I… Where do you live?’

Grantaire smiled at Enjolras' being so direct again.

‘2 minutes’ walk from here.’

‘Could I see?’

Grantaire thought hard and really wished that Enjolras had not added to his torment. His parents weren’t home yet, but there was always the threat, and just being in that house-

‘Only if it’s convenient,’ Enjolras added hurriedly.

Oh, it was anything but convenient. But, because of the aforementioned turmoil, he agreed.

‘Well, I suppose my parents aren’t in.’

Enjolras didn’t see how this was relevant but didn’t say anything - it sounded like a yes.

So, Grantaire let Enjolras into his house, and couldn’t even relax enough to feel embarrassed about what it was like compared to Enjolras’. As Grantaire had no sofas or armchairs in his room, they sat down on his bed. Still, as Enjolras looked around the walls on which the paintings seemed to come to life, he preferred it infinitely to his own room. He stopped thinking about what it was normal to do, and thought instead of what he wanted to do.

‘Your paintings are beautiful,’ he told Grantaire, ‘just like your soul.’ And he pressed his hand.

 

Grantaire looked up into Enjolras’ eyes in an immeasurably sweet and tender way, hoping this would tell Enjolras how he felt better than he could express in words. Enjolras did not look away. Without meaning to, still gazing into each other’s eyes, they somehow moved closer. Enjolras didn’t seem to notice, but Grantaire did. One moment, he was just staring at Enjolras’ lips, and the next, without thinking at all, and barely knowing what had happened, he was kissing him.

 

Many thoughts went through Enjolras’ head in a very short time. He hardly knew what to think or do. Of course he didn’t kiss him back - he couldn’t. He had immediately put his hands on the sides of Grantaire’s shoulders, intending to push him away - very gently, he didn’t want to upset him - but then he didn’t. Why wasn’t he pushing him away? Finally he managed to regain enough control of himself to do it - and even then, it wasn’t really him doing anything, it was more of a hint to Grantaire. Grantaire realised what Enjolras was trying to tell him and stopped kissing him immediately - but at the moment their lips parted the door flew open.

 

Enjolras had no clue what was happening for a moment. Grantaire had too much at stake not to. Like an involuntary action, before he had time to think about anything, he acted out of self-preservation and he hated himself for it. He swung his hand and slapped Enjolras hard. And he didn’t stop there: he shoved him and scratched him, but the worst was what he said. He shouted things he would never want to hear, that he never imagined he could say, especially to someone he loved. Everything was a blur - he didn’t know where he was or what was happening, he just knew he was screaming until someone slapped him in the face. Stunned, he was silent. The world came back to him again: he was in his room, leaning against his bed, and in front of him were his parents.

He swore and swore that he did not kiss Enjolras back, that Enjolras forced him to, that he now hated him. His father wanted to give him a beating but his mother convinced him to ground Grantaire. He was locked in his room and not let out for the rest of the day and night. On Tuesday he was let out of his room, but locked in the house. He didn’t even go to school. As the day drew on and he thought his parents would be coming home soon, he considered whether he could stay at all. With his parents, he never knew. His father could beat him half to death and then love him the next day… until the next time. But they must have believed him. If they hadn’t, it would have been much, much worse.

He heard a knock at the door. First he thought it was his parents, but they wouldn’t knock. He looked out through the window, and saw Enjolras. His heart didn’t know whether to sink or soar. He beheld at once his rescuer and his executioner.

Enjolras moved round to the window and saw him. He rapped on the glass and Grantaire opened the window.

‘Grantaire,’ said Enjolras. His voice didn’t sound angry but urgent. ‘Can you come out here?’

Grantaire couldn’t really speak, so he obeyed. He stood on the kitchen counter, knocking down a plate, and fell down the other side of the window. As he was slumped on the ground at Enjolras’ feet, there is nothing he would have liked more than to stay there forever and beg for forgiveness. But then he saw the time on the watch on Enjolras’ wrist and knew that pouring his heart out could get them both killed. He had to get Enjolras to leave immediately. So he stood up, as steadily as he could.

‘Look, Grantaire, I forgive you.’ This was unprecedented. Grantaire had to fight hard to keep a stony face. ‘I understand why you did what you did and how hard it must be for you. I just want you to say it will never happen again.’

He just wanted an apology. Grantaire looked at Enjolras’ face: he had a split lip, his face was scratched, and there was dark bruising on one cheek, covered with concealer. And he had done this. He would have done anything for Enjolras, but he couldn’t even say he was sorry. Time was running out. He could not begin to explain how horrible he felt - and to Grantaire there seemed only one thing to do.

‘I don’t know what you think this is. We’re not even real friends; I barely know you.’

Enjolras’ countenance shifted from confusion to distress. Grantaire avoided his eyes and continued.

‘We have to stop meeting. Please, you need to leave, for both our sakes!’ He cursed himself for allowing some of his desperation to seep through into the last sentence, but Enjolras was already fuming.

‘So I was wrong about you.’ Enjolras started off unsure, but as what Grantaire had said got to him, his confidence and anger rose. ‘I thought you were special; I thought it was just a slip; but you’re only a coward.’ His calm words hurt Grantaire more than any screaming of obscenities could have done. ‘Talk about censorship. You’re the biggest tyrant that there is.’ That really hurt, because Grantaire knew how much it meant to Enjolras.

Then he saw his father’s car and it was all too late. There was nothing he could do, but he wasn’t thinking rationally. He grabbed Enjolras by the shoulders and tried to hide him somewhere, anywhere, beneath the surface of the Earth if possible. But Enjolras was stronger than him - he grabbed Grantaire’s arms and slammed him into the wall, harder than he intended to. He didn’t see Grantaire’s father coming up from behind him, didn’t know that from where he was standing it would look like they were kissing - and that this time Grantaire wouldn’t be able to deny his involvement.

Grantaire’s father ploughed into them, knocking Enjolras to the ground. When Enjolras came to, he only saw Grantaire being dragged inside. Grantaire saw him and knew he wouldn’t understand. He only wished he had told him the truth.

 

Enjolras saw Grantaire disappear and the door slam. He was shaken and he didn’t understand. He felt the only way forward would be to confess all his feelings. Grantaire wouldn’t speak to him in person and wouldn’t answer the phone. Grantaire would have made fun of him for it, but the only thing Enjolras felt he could do was write him a letter.

 ~~_Dear_ ~~ _Grantaire,_

_I’m very sorry about what I said and did today. I didn’t mean it. But I still can’t forget all the things you said. If you really never want to see me again, that can be arranged. But first, we need to meet so that we can discuss it calmly. I must apologise to you for all I’ve done, and you must explain to me what you feel because I can’t live with this torment._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Enjolras_

He read the letter and knew it was no good. He decided to write it again.

_Grantaire,_

_I’m writing this as the thoughts come into my head so you will get the pure, unadulterated truth._

_I am feeling tormented, but why? I believe you have treated me unjustly, but why was it such a blow to me? I have been offended before by a lot of people but never so much as by you._

_To figure this out maybe we shouldn’t be talking about what we’ve been talking about, but about what happened before. I couldn’t bring myself to push you away: why? Did I not want to risk my only friend? Surely, deceiving you would have been more of a risk to our friendship._

_And I’ve just thought: what if I didn’t deceive you at all? So there it is, for you and for me._

He couldn’t think any more of what his heart had just revealed to him: now was the time for action. He had to get the letter to Grantaire - he was sure that if he did, Grantaire would see sense and everything would be alright. He couldn’t post the letter - his parents would suspect a letter addressed to him and he probably wouldn’t read it. He had to give it to Grantaire himself.

He went to Grantaire’s school on Wednesday, but Grantaire was not there. He wasn’t there on Thursday, either. Enjolras thought he must be avoiding him. But then on Friday he saw him. It wasn’t just seeing Grantaire that shocked Enjolras. Enjolras thought _he_ had been violently abused on Monday, but that was nothing. Grantaire was covered in bruises; but when he saw Enjolras, his face lit up.

 

Grantaire could tell Enjolras thought he hated him, but he didn’t: how could he, when he had been in the wrong all along? He finally had a chance to talk to Enjolras away from his parents and was walking towards him hopefully: he could now spill his guilt that ran like blood in his veins. But the sight of Enjolras had made him forget what he looked like, and that Enjolras had no idea about the beating. So when he saw Enjolras’ facial expression, which resembled disgust, he did not know why. He had no idea that Enjolras was only just realising what he had done, and understanding why Grantaire had done what he had. What was actually an expression of fury and terrible guilt, Grantaire took as disgust with him.

He sprinted past Enjolras, giving the latter no chance to recover his wits and give him the letter. Enjolras tried to follow him, but Grantaire was so desperate he could never outrun him.

 

Enjolras knew he was running towards his house but thought there was no way he would stay there. He then realised Grantaire might be getting his supplies and going to the graffiti wall. Enjolras ran and got there first. He looked at their painting and was uplifted by how they had felt making it - but then came crashing down as he realised all that may be lost. As he racked his mind for clues as to what he could possibly do, he realised he still had a can of spray paint in his bag (he didn’t want to leave it lying around the house) and decided to leave a message Grantaire would definitely see. He didn’t have much time so it had to be short and to the point. He took a deep breath and wrote it - wrote exactly what he was feeling without running it through his brain. The he heard running on the bridge above him and hid.

 

Grantaire jumped down from the bridge, scrambled down the slope, and was faced with the graffiti wall. Brimming with rage at the painting for reigniting his pain, Grantaire lifted up the can with the black paint and was about to press down and spray the thing out of existence… but then caught sight of something that made him stop dead and drop the can, then follow it to the ground. Just above the painting, he recognised the primitive but neat and methodical shape of Enjolras’ writing. It said:

_R I love you, you idiot_


End file.
